Dreams, Souvenirs
by CrlkSeasons
Summary: A quiet interlude after hours in the mess hall. Takes place after the episode, Bliss.


Dreams, Souvenirs

The lights in the mess hall were dimmed to a softness that mimicked ambient starlight. An hour ago, Neelix had set a thermos of fresh coffee on the counter and said good night to Tom Paris. The thermos was not much emptier now than it had been then. Tom sat alone on one of the couches, staring into space. The subdued lighting gave a silvery glow to his hands and face, leaving his uniform in darkness. The monochromatic tones echoed the black and white palette of Captain Proton.

Tom's head rested against one of the back cushions. His long legs stretched out to rest on a low coffee table. One hand loosely cradled a coffee mug that perched on the armrest. If his eyes had been closed, you would have sworn that he was asleep.

He certainly didn't hear the swish of the doors as they opened and closed. He also didn't notice the trim figure that first stood near the door, then crossed to the thermos to fill a mug of her own before coming to stand at the far end of the couch.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Oh, sorry, Captain. I didn't see you come in." Tom struggled to find a place to put his feet.

"Don't get up," the Captain urged him. She held up one hand to stop him before he knocked over the furniture. She sank down on the other end of the couch and balanced her mug on the other armrest. She leisurely crossed her legs on top of the low table, matching Tom's earlier posture.

"Nice view," she commented, her head resting against the back cushion.

"Yeah!" he agreed. He leant back comfortably to watch the interplay of light and dark.

They contemplated the stars in companionable silence.

"You know, Captain," Tom said, still staring out at the view of space. "It was funny."

She turned her head to catch the expression on his face. "What was, Tom?"

"The letters that the Pitcher Plant made us believe we were getting from home."

"Yes?"

"The letter that I imagined receiving, it was supposed to be from a buddy of mine, offering me a job at a new flight testing center in Australia. It was everything that I used to dream about. I would have a challenging flying job that Dad could respect, even if the job wasn't in Starfleet. It would allow me to be near the ocean, my first love. At one time, that was my idea of the perfect life."

"Why is that funny, Tom?"

"I still love parts of the idea. But, it wouldn't be enough anymore. I mean, B'Elanna's in my life now. What did I think she was supposed to be doing while I was in Australia? I didn't even consider her in my fantasy. I guess I could have imagined that she would get a job at the test center too. But the point is that I _didn't_ imagine that part. I didn't think about her being there at all."

"I know what you mean."

Tom looked a question across to her.

"In my fantasy, I received a letter from my ex-fiancé, Mark, telling me that he had called off his engagement to his new fiancée."

"Captain, I don't mean to pry, but didn't you once say that he was already married?"

"Yes," she said simply. "That's my point. The letter _was_ a fantasy. While it might be great for my ego to think that Mark was still waiting for me, it wasn't realistic. Not only that, if it had been true it would have meant that Mark had lost another chance at a life with a woman he cared deeply enough about to want to marry. I would never want Mark to be hurt that way." She shook her head at the idea. "It wasn't real and it didn't offer me anything that I really wanted anymore. It was just pieces of an old dream that I had hanging around in my memory."

"Like old toys in an attic," Tom commented.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know how some houses used to have a storage space under the roof? They're hard to find now in places like San Francisco because every available space has been converted into housing. I did see an attic once. It was full of old things that the people who lived there didn't need any more, but weren't ready to throw away. It had stuff like old clothes, furniture, knick-knacks. You know, nostalgic stuff."

"Treasured memories," the Captain observed.

"That's right, like the children's old toys. The family didn't want to toss them away. But it wasn't as if the kids were going to play with them anymore, at least, not every day," he added.

The Captain smiled, knowing that with Tom Paris' sense of fun, he would still enjoy playing long after he grew old and his hair paled to white. "Yes, I can see how old dreams can be like toys left over from childhood," she commented. "They were fun to have when we were younger. We may enjoy taking them out again from time to time, remembering the good old days. But, they're no longer a part of our daily lives." Kathryn followed one of her own memories down a path that led past old toys to an old dream. "I performed on center stage at a dance recital back when I was very young," she told Tom. "After that success, I decided that I was destined to be a great dancer, a prima ballerina with hordes of adoring fans. If you remember my offering to Voyager's talent show, you know how realistic that was."

Tom took a mouthful of his coffee to cover a smile as he formed a mental picture of a miniature version of the Captain traipsing across the stage. He put his mug down again when a memory of his own supplanted that image. "When I was little, I read all those old sailing stories. That's when I first fell in love with the sea," Tom reminded the Captain. "Anyway, I was going to sail on a wind-powered ship, complete with a wooden mast and a nineteenth century crew. I don't know where I expected to find such a ship. But as far as I was concerned, that was what the sea was all about."

That was a bittersweet memory, for both of them.

After a time, Kathryn spoke again. "My next dream was more realistic," she congratulated herself. "I was going to be a champion tennis player. I practiced all the time and even got good enough to compete in tournaments, I was terribly disappointed if I didn't win."

"When I was at the Academy, I joined the ski team. I loved it." Tom revealed, in turn. "I kept chasing that perfect run. I wanted to fly down the slopes. Sometimes I came so close that I could feel the edge of the mountain."

Kathryn pictured a younger Tom Paris, high up on his mountain. She thought she could recognize some of that Tom Paris in the more grown up Tom. "I think dreams and memories from our earlier days still play a role in the dreams that we have as we grow up," she decided. "I know that I've always been inspired by the family stories that I heard when I was very young, and also by what I read about women who reached beyond boundaries to face the unknown. At one time I thought that meant being a science officer. To explore the mysteries of space and to find answers to questions that no-one had even yet imagined was my dearest wish."

"After I gave up on the sea, all I wanted to do was to fly. That meant everything to me. So, when I couldn't fly anymore, after Caldik Prime, having dreams seemed empty, and a bit callous too. For a long time it didn't seem right to have dreams, when _they_ couldn't dream anymore," he finished quietly. The hollowness in his voice revealed more than a thousand words could tell about the pain that still haunted those memories.

"What about now?" Kathryn asked gently.

Tom pulled himself back to the present. "I'm not sure. Sometimes dreams seem unattainable, unreal. Like Captain Proton," he added.

"Is Captain Proton an unattainable dream?" she asked. She was rather saddened by the idea of dreams out of his reach.

"Well, not the program itself, of course. But the way he saves the universe, the idea that I could do something that would matter that much."

She remembered his enjoyment of the Captain Proton universe, the unembarrassed, almost naïve way that he talked about the program in the briefing room when they were discussing how to deal with Dr. Chaotica. "Our dreams inspire us to strive for greater things," she said. "They help us to discover who we want to be. Maybe the real fantasy is thinking that Captain Proton has to save the universe all by himself for it to matter?" she suggested.

Tom had a thoughtful expression, but didn't comment.

"Captain Proton is worth treasuring and even revisiting sometimes," she said. "But we need Tom Paris in the real world. We count on him in so many ways. Voyager can survive without Captain Proton. It wouldn't be the same without Tom Paris."

Tom considered this and dared to ask. "Do you still have dreams, Captain?"

She remembered the love of discovery and the dedication to ideals that had led her to Starfleet. She thought about her life here in the Delta quadrant with all her hopes for her 'family' on Voyager. "I have new dreams," she admitted, "and some old ones too that I still treasure. Even very old dreams can enrich our lives. I may never be a great dancer, but I think I will always have a love of music. I even took up tennis again."

"I suppose you just have to sort through your dreams from time to time to know which ones to live with and which ones to put away," Tom said. "I think that's what I've been trying to figure out."

"And how are you doing, sorting through your dreams?"

"I think that I'm realizing that the dreams that I have now aren't based on my childhood fantasies. They have nothing to do with making my father happy, or with ticking him off either. I've started to dream dreams on Voyage that matter more to me than I can say. I just need to remember to pack the old stuff away so that the new dreams have room to grow."

She looked over at him sitting in light and shadow. She sensed a calm in him that she recognized from the times when she had reached a decision. She rested her head back against the cushion, enjoying the tranquil stillness.

"Captain," Tom called softly.

She turned her head so that he could see that he had her full attention.

"I think I'm about ready to give you that promise that you asked for."

"Whenever you need to see me, my door will be open," she told him.

He nodded and they relaxed back into silence.

In Voyager's darkened mess hall, two figures sat, sipping coffee, watching the stars, sharing a quiet moment on their journey home.

The End

Author's notes:

1) The title, Dreams, Souvenirs, refers to the French as well as to the more commonly understood English meaning of the word 'souvenir'.

2) The promise mentioned in this story is the one discussed in the last chapter of my earlier story, The Next Morning.


End file.
